


Take Care of Me

by Mysenia



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills 2015 [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magic, Prompt Fill, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Witches, Wolf Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4152942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysenia/pseuds/Mysenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: It was so hard to choose on that list so I won't instead I'll go with W and the pairing Peter & Stiles. Peter to Stiles "I take care of you because you're Pack." Along with or in place of that one if it doesn't work for you (still Peter to Stiles.) "I've failed you once I won't do it again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Care of Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rainlady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainlady/gifts).



> I know we were talking Domestic/Slice of Life Steter but this is where my brain went when I got your prompt! I hope that's alright ^^

“Why in the hell would you do that?” Stiles screamed in his face, anguish in his eyes. “You stupid, stupid idiot.” He tapered off, hiccuping through his tears.

Peter tried to reassure him but he thinks he may have smirked instead going by the look of outrage crossing Stiles’ features. He reaches out and flicks Stiles on the nose.

“Sweetheart, I failed you once and I promised myself I would never do it again.” Peter wishes he could hold Stiles and comfort him. Wishes his promise hadn’t ended with Stiles more messed up. Wishes that in keeping his promise he also hadn’t been forced to break it. 

“Yes because you dying is definitely not failing, absolutely. Of course I see it now.” Stiles’ jaw is tight, his hands clenched into fists.

“You’re alive, darling. You’re alive and to me that is the greatest achievement.” Peter refuses to admit that Stiles is right, that this feels more like a failure than anything.

He never wanted to leave Stiles. Had pictured the two of them standing at the end of it all, together. 

“I just,” Stiles reached out a hand, let it drop before it touched Peter. “Can you hold on just a little longer?”

Peter can deny Stiles nothing, even if that means fighting fate, and nods his head. 

Stiles’ breathy sigh of relief makes Peter’s heart beat faster, the blood pumping more quickly through the holes, and it makes Peter sway. He leans forward and rests his forehead against Stiles’. 

Peter thinks this is the best way he could have gone. Kneeling in front of Stiles, anchored to each other by their foreheads, comfort in the touch, _together_.

* * *

When Peter finally relaxes is when Stiles jumps into motion. He only has moments before it’s too late to save Peter, but he’s prepared. No way was this stupid war claiming either one of them. 

His fingers tremble and his panic skyrockets, black spots invading his vision. Peter’s body slumping further onto him snaps him back, and he vows to berate himself later. Now is not the time for doubts, now is the time for action.

Stiles takes his own hands, scraped raw and oozing blood, and shoves them into the wounds on Peter’s side. The soft give almost makes him gag. Nudging Peter’s head to the side, Stiles leans forward and bites - hard - just underneath Peter’s jaw, where neck meets the jawline. 

He can feel Peter’s blood trickling into his mouth and down his throat, he blanks his mind to thinking about it. 

He can feel his spark rising up, responding to the intent surging through his mind. He needs, no _he has_ , absolute conviction that this will work. 

He can feel the moment Peter’s heart starts beating in sync with his. Feels Peter’s bad blood surging through their open wounds, transferring over to himself. Feels the stain oozing out of his soul, his magic purifying and cleansing the curse in a way Peter’s body never would have been able. 

It’s dangerous, taking on something like this, and that’s why Stiles needed Peter unconscious. If Peter had fought this, which - knowing the wolf - he would have, then Stiles would not have been able to succeed. As it is he feels the curse trying to latch onto his soul, trying to drag him under the way it had Peter.

Peter’s wounds had been superficial, but this curse had cut off all access to his wolf. Had slowly been devouring Peter’s wolf until a wisp of it was left, and that’s when the witches had attacked. Knowing that Peter was at his most vulnerable. Stiles vowed to rend them limb from limb. 

He didn’t have much time left, Peter’s wolf flickering in and out, the witches hunting them down where Stiles had him themselves away. He wanted to rush but he knew any mistake, any little missed detail, and Peter would live a shell of a man for the rest of his life. 

Stiles pushed his spark forward, enveloped the fading wolf where he sensed it, and consumed it. Took it inside himself and let his spark mend it, cleanse it and heal it. 

Stiles was grateful for the physical closeness of Peter anchoring him, for otherwise he would be lost to the maelstrom of wrongness that having Peter’s wolf inside him caused. His body, his soul, wasn’t vast enough to contain another living soul inside it and it was tearing him apart at the seams. The universe was trying to right a wrong. Stiles braced himself.

He nearly cried in relief when the moment came, when the wolf snapped at him to tell him it was ready to go home. Stiles didn’t need to direct the wolf, he just let his spark nudge it back towards Peter and it clamped onto the werewolf, rumbling it’s satisfaction. He let go of Peter, his aching jaw relaxing it’s grip on the werewolf’s flesh, and he pulled back. 

Stiles’ world righted itself, the wrongness leaving him as quickly as it had come. He felt like he could vomit.

With the last of his strength Stiles pulled the werewolf along with him further into the cave. A small alcove caught his attention and he shoved the wolf in, not caring to be gentle as his body was close to dropping with exhaustion. 

Stiles fell in behind the wolf and curled himself around Peter. With his last thought he threw up a concealing spell and slipped into darkness.

* * *

When Peter became aware of his surroundings, he panicked. He had hoped his afterlife would be one of darkness, never knowing anything. Complete in-existence. He was not prepared to face anything.

He felt warm but achy. He flexed his limbs, finding that moving was absolutely not what he wanted to be doing right now, and became aware of something attached to his back. 

Peter opened his eyes to darkness, panic gripping him momentarily at the thought that his afterlife would be existing in darkness. If he had to have an afterlife he wanted nothing at all, no feeling, or everything. Not a mixture of both. 

Breathing in deeply, Peter caught the scents of musk and stone. Flicking out his tongue he tasted moss and sweat, blood. The scent of iron made him pause.

Blinking his eyes brought snippets of shadows to his eyes, and Peter wondered if his abilities still worked in the afterlife. Peter concentrated on his wolf, looking for the change in his eyes, shakily exhaling when his sight was restored to him. 

Looking around Peter realised he was in a cave. Rock walls surrounded him but he could see a faint light filtering in behind him. He tried to roll over but felt whatever was attached to him hold him tighter. 

Craning his neck, Peter tried to look at what had a hold of him.

“Stiles?” He gasped out. “No no no!” He chanted the word like a prayer, hoping this wall as some fucked up illusion. Stiles shouldn’t be here. Stiles wasn’t the one dying.

He forcibly turned himself over, gripping Stiles’ face in his hands. Grief gripping his heart and he let the tears fall. He had saved Stiles. As much as he wanted to always be with Stiles, no matter where, he did not want Stiles to be dead. He had a life full of potential and it was gone. 

He buried his head in Stiles neck, breathing in all the nuances of the man’s scent. Hands rubbing through his hair alerted him to Stiles being awake, and he sat back.

Stiles reached a hand out, grabbing at the side of Peter’s face, thumbing away the tears that fell. Stiles eyed him, “Why?”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Peter held Stiles’ hand to his face as the man sat up. “I didn’t, I mean, you weren’t.” Peter took a deep breath. “You were not supposed to die.”

Stiles shuffled forward on his knees, bumping his forehead against Peter’s.

“We’re not dead Peter.”

* * *

Leaving the cave, their temporary sanctuary, had been hard. They both knew they still had to face the witches and neither relished the thought. Keeping their presence in the forest unknown wasn’t easy. They skulked from place to place, never leaving evidence of their passing. 

Surprisingly they argued very little, even after Stiles told Peter what he’d done. The wolf was past arguing over ‘what if’s’ and accepted that Stiles was going to do what he thought best, regardless of any evidence to the contrary. Though Peter knew he’d have a hard time arguing anything when Stiles got the outcome he had wanted. 

As they went along Peter made sure Stiles had enough to eat, snagging rabbits to roast and edible berries. He sniffed out clean water, knowing the long days in the sun would dehydrate them. 

After the first night out, when Stiles had move slowly the next day due to lack of sleep, Peter made sure to gather moss and big leaves for the human to sleep on. He cleared away pebbles and sticks, making sure Stiles didn’t bed down for the night on any roots. He shook himself into wolf form and sidled up, adding warmth and comfort to Stiles so he could sleep easier.

Sometimes Stiles looked at him with thankful eyes, and other times Peter couldn’t gouge what the human was thinking.

* * *

It took them a week winding their way through the forest before they managed to come upon the witches. The witches had traps set up, but Stiles spotted the laziness in their set up. They were lax in their security, thinking themselves victorious. Stiles reveled in their surprise.

Stiles made good on his vow to tear them apart, using their own traps against them. It was bloody. It was violent. 

Stiles puked when it was all over.

* * *

Getting back into regular life took some practice. They didn’t drop the constant vigilance, but they did relax. Often though they’d each be found at the other’s place. Drawn to each other. 

Stiles noticed that Peter kept doing things for him. Showing up with coffee or making him home cooked meals. 

He came home one day to the wolf cleaning his apartment. It smelled wonderful and looked fantastic, but that didn’t stop Stiles from berating the wolf. Peter just ignored him.

When Stiles complained about exhaustion, Peter came over and gave him a massage, fluffed his pillows, and put him to bed. When his car finally broke down, Peter started showing up to drive him wherever he needed to go. When Stiles caught the flu, Peter showed up to make him soup and make sure he had everything he needed. 

It gnawed at Stiles, until one day he couldn’t stay silent anymore.

“Peter, you don’t,” Stiles paused, searching for the right word. “You don’t owe me anything. You know that right?”

Peter stopped puttering around the kitchen, preparing Stiles’ favourite dessert. “What do you mean?”

“This!” Stiles gestured to Peter standing in his kitchen. “You constantly doing things for me. I didn’t save you because I wanted you to be indebted to me! You’re my friend.” Stiles flushed at the word, knowing he thought of Peter as way more than just a friend. “I don’t want you to think you owe me. You don’t. You can stop taking care of me.”

Peter shook his head. “You think I think I owe you?” Shaking his head, Peter wiped his hands off on his hand towel and stepped around the counter. He took measured steps until he was barely a foot away from Stiles.

“No sweetheart. I _take care_ of you because you’re pack.” Peter smiled softly at him. “I _take care_ of you because I want to.” He stepped closer. “I _take care_ of you because I love you.”

Stiles bit hip lip, knowing his heart had just started beating wildly. Peter’s smile grew.

“Is that acceptable to you?” Peter walked forward until he was mere breaths away.

Stiles nodded, unable to speak for the lump in his throat. Peter reached his hands forward, tangling them with Stiles’, not quite gripping. 

Stiles leaned his head forward, Peter meeting him in the middle. 

“Okay, you can take care of me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think. :)
> 
> ~ M


End file.
